Up the Creek

I, like any other warm-blooded man, enjoy the little things in life-- a sweet-smelling lass on me lap, an occasional toss of the bones, and a long pull from a bottle of home-brewed grog. Unfortunately, me old bag does not share in that enjoyment, which is why I've been temporarily forbidden from leaving me stead. Now I can survive without the thighs or dice, but a night without me drip and I'm sure as dead. Luckily, I keep a bottle or five of me brew hidden nearby, and I'd be more than willing to bestow a share of me gambling winnings upon any kind soul who'd be kind enough to fetch the bottles and deliver them to me door, discreet-like.